


Firehearted

by izumidos



Series: AkaKuro Week 2017 [4]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: AkaKuro Week 2017, Family, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 18:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10622694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izumidos/pseuds/izumidos
Summary: For there is nothing crueler than a mortal's anger and nothing more destructive than a lover's anger.They have no concern for his lethal injuries or nearing death, not when their fists were being raised higher and higher with each bloodthirsty yell to murder him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> beta'd by [yukki](ssanctuses.tumblr.com), the sweet bean :'))
> 
> anyway, **NOTE:** this one-shot is darker than the others by a long shot. like hella darker. the akakuro also doesn't come full blast until the second half of the one-shot as the first half is more of the set up.
> 
> the title is inspired by a german proverb: "Fire in the heart sends smoke into the head" which talks about anger and how it can blind/destroy you if you let it -- which is a big part of this! i hope you enjoy this work!!

Tetsuya’s entire body aches.

 

There’s a harsh pounding in his head while his entire back pulsed with a dull, steady pain that sends him quietly groaning with even the slightest of movements. He’s lying on his right side, left arm wrapped tightly around his stomach and pressing into a warm wetness that pooled around him; droplets falling into the cracks of the brick-patterned road and trailing up until it’s gone under the soles of a crowd.

 

The crowd looms over him, jeering insults and spitting curses at the bleeding male. They have no concern for his lethal injuries or nearing death, not when their fists were being raised higher and higher with each bloodthirsty yell to murder him.

 

But Tetsuya ignores his bleeding stomach and the throbbing pain of it as his right arm stretches out as if he wanted to reach something – no, _someone_.

 

Just a few feet away from his fingertips is his scared, little boy. His brown eyes are wide, and his lips quiver at the ugly sight that was his mother; Tetsuya tries to smile through the pain to soothe his child, but his fingertips twitched instinctively at the need to reach his son, and his face twists into a barely masked expression of pain. He had forgotten about how a woman had stepped on his hand to break it earlier.

 

“Shigehiro,” Tetsuya murmurs near silently, the name rolling off of his lips as if it was a prayer. “Shigehiro,” he repeats.

 

His son’s entire body starts to tremble now as he reads his mother’s lips, and his heart crumbles at his whispered name. He swallows the dryness in his throat, hands clenching into fists before he squares his shoulders. Before he could take a step forward to start bolting, someone had already stopped him.

 

“Hah, I found the runt son of these witch bastards!”

 

Tetsuya’s mouth opens to cry out as a large man towers over his tiny child, watching calloused hands tightly grip onto the boy’s shirt and lift him far above with too much ease. He could see his child’s eyes widening in fear, tears starting to well up as he kicks his legs in retaliation and yell in stuttery anger.

 

The man only laughs, the crowd soon following suit as they circle around the two, and they’re soon both surrounded by the mocking laughter of the deranged and the cruel villagers, finding humor in the humiliating torture of a family unlike them.

 

But the laughter stops when the tiny boy’s kick is higher than all of the others and hits the burly man in his throat. He _roars_ at the momentary pain, and the crowd is suddenly stunned into silence as the man’s grip becomes tighter. Shigehiro cries out louder when the fabric around his neck starts to feel far too tight, and his hands instinctively come up to force himself free from the hold.

 

Tetsuya can only manage out a weak cry for his son as he watches him slowly turn bluer, all the fight in him dwindling with every passing second. He tries to move again, but the wound in his stomach and the broken bones in his hand remind him that he’s useless in trying to save his youngest son.

 

None of the people in the crowd are helping him, many still in shock at the roar and even more at the sight of an adult man attempting to suffocate a tiny child to death. Their shock only fades when the man drops Shigehiro as quickly as he had started choking him and starts _kicking_ the child, crumpling onto the ground.

 

Shigehiro wails at the first kick, barely audible with his bruised throat, as his arms move pathetically to block the hits, but the man doesn’t stop.

 

No, his kicks only get rougher and rougher as it strikes every part of Shigehiro’s small body; it hits him in his stomach, his legs, his face. The only sound left is the loud sobbing of an abused child, and the crashing impact of a man’s boot hitting harshly against flesh.

 

Tetsuya is panicking now, all the composure he’s known for in his family suddenly gone at the sight in front of him. He’s whispering strings of apologies to his son, as he forces his entire body to move towards him; he ignores the howling pain that erupts all over and the feeling of more blood gushing out of his wounds.

 

“Shigehiro!” His voice is still too scratchy and choked to be heard over the kicking, even as he calls out for his precious son over and over again.

 

The man won’t stop hurting him – why won’t he stop when the person they should hurt was him? He apologizes again to Shigehiro, eyes starting to blur with tears, and it’s in that moment of brief haziness that everything crumbles.

 

The silver gleam of a knife shines brightly under the full moon, sharp and foreboding in the man’s large grip. He’s not kicking the small child anymore; instead, he’s towering over the bruised and nearly limp form of the whimpering boy, brandishing the knife with the ease of a hunter.

 

There’s no more sound, not even the breathing of the once more silent crowd, and Tetsuya knows something is horribly wrong. When his teary eyes clear up enough, he’s greeted by his worst nightmares coming true.

 

Tetsuya’s eyes widen, breath hitching and mouth frozen in a pained yell for his son as he hears the cruel noises of a knife digging deep into a small child’s stomach; there’s screeching, loud and pained as he calls out for his mother rendered useless on the ground, his father detained months ago, and his group of siblings who had been swept away by other guardians and whom he had saved by staying here himself.

 

More new noises are heard as each descent of the knife promises for a new scar to be etched on innocent skin. But the sounds soon fade into a buzz in Tetsuya’s numb mind; all he can process is the blood pooling around him falling into the same crevices of the brick paved path, his precious son’s blood mixing with Tetsuya’s as if it was one last chance for them to be near each other.

 

Kuroko whimpers as tears fall, his head dropping to his stretched arm to hide his pained gaze and to avoid the sight of his now dead son.

 

All he wishes for is his son to be alive, for his lover to come back home, and for his family to be safe again.

 

The man laughs.

 

* * *

 

_At one point, I thought he was god._

 

* * *

 

 

The man doesn’t laugh for long; not when there is a dead child at his feet, not when there is a mother bruised as they watch their child get murdered, and not when there is a lover gazing at their broken family.

 

Seijuurou comes dashing in on a wild horse, fast and frenetic as it gallops down the paved path with angry whinnying and the harsh beating of his hooves against the earth. Behind them, there is a trail of bright, _bright_ fire that follows.

 

It starts out as red rock-like shapes on the ground, small and harmless, but with every passing second, it shifts. It transforms into a flame as tall and intimidating as a clock tower, radiating a luminescent warmth that does nothing but send chills down the crowd’s spine.

 

It flickers and flickers as it sways to an imaginary rhythm, deadly underneath the pale moonlight turned red and orange and yellow; there is no more mercy for the people in the crowd who had harmed his lover, for the man who had murdered his son.

 

The fire _roars_ , much like the vicious man in the crowd, before it transforms into an almost living entity. Tendrils of flame lash out and leave clean lines of fire on the buildings that surround them, the buildings easily succumbing to its rapid destruction through heat; other tendrils travel down the path towards the crowd and surrounds them as each flame spikes up to a towering height.

 

Screams erupt from the crowd, ugly and shameful as some beg for their lives to be spared as if they were still allowed to live freely after all that they did. Their cries only fuel the fire that surrounds them, that fills Seijuurou, and the rings start to close in.

 

They’re paid no more attention, even as the screams get louder as each one gets set on fire, when Seijuurou finally reaches his injured lover, seemingly still on the floor.

 

Tetsuya is a mess with puddles of dried blood circling his stomach, bruised and cuts on his body, and a twisted hand with broken fingers. His back is barely moving up with each shallow breath, and Seijuurou is worried that each one of those breaths might be his husband’s last.

 

Seijuurou’s fury is barely restrained as he dismounts from his horse as quick as he can, and it runs away far from him, liberated from his care. He kneels down next to the smaller male, hand moving down to gently grip Tetsuya’s chin and lift his head up.

 

There’s a blank look in his dull, blue gaze – far too blank – and Seijuurou knows what it means.

 

He thinks back on his family life that seemed like lifetimes ago, specifically on Tetsuya’s bad days when nothing could ever get him to move out of bed. He thinks about how Tetsuya could stay silent for the whole day with his gaze always focused on the same point, and how he never ate or drank at all during it. He thinks about how he had looked so small tucked underneath all of the blankets, but so aged with the blank look that hid a far stormier mind than anyone could ever envision – Seijuurou included.

 

“Come on now, Tetsuya,” Seijuurou whispers, his voice laden with worry, other arm coming to wrap around Tetsuya’s waist to flip him over slowly. “Don’t do this to me right now. Come back to me. It doesn’t have to be instantly as long as you’re here again.”

 

Nothing happens, but it doesn’t discourage Seijuurou. He only peels off Tetsuya’s limp arm off of his stomach and replaces it with his own hand, now glowing a bright red color of the same shade of Seijuurou’s eyes. He murmurs the same words of his pleas as his eyes watch the wound on his stomach slowly shrink as Tetsuya’s skin starts to close.

 

His free hand brushes over Tetsuya’s bangs, pushing it to the side as he dips his head down to press a sweet-tempered kiss against the pale forehead. He stays there for a moment, lips moving against it but no words escaping; there’s no need for it when the man below him can understand him in every way, can understand how his lips moved to declare his love for him, to apologize for his capture months ago, to mourn the death of their son.

 

“At least you managed to survive, my dear,” he finally says out loud when he pulls his hand back and reveals a near perfect stomach; only the faintest hint of a scar suggests his wound. “I’m glad that you had enough magic left to keep yourself in this stasis-like state. I was worried when you sent me a letter a week ago about sending our other sons to safer families and hiding them with your invisibility.

 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to aid you in this. Perhaps I would have been able to prevent you from being harmed and from Shigehiro being killed if I was faster or if I was never captured at all,” he chokes out as his shoulders sag with guilt.

 

He places one more kiss on his husband’s forehead before he shut his eyes; his senses sharpen, and he can hear the near silent fires that still surround _him_. He’ll deal with it soon.

 

“Tetsuya, I hope you forgive me for this. However, I understand that this is a thing of the past now. It’s irreversible, and I cannot change Shigehiro’s state, but I can avenge him. For you.”

 

Seijuurou’s eyes flutter open, a single eye now a molten gold as his anguished expression transforms into an apathetic mask; the fire behind him peaking for a moment. He lifts his head up and pushes himself up until he’s standing, tall and proud like how an Akashi always should be with a dark vibe that only promised hell.

 

He strides towards the makeshift prison with its flaming bars, and with only a short nod of his head, it heeds immediately: the columns of fire die down, revealing a mountain of ash as black as the shadows behind him and a trembling body of a large male. In front of him is Shigehiro’s corpse.

 

There is no mercy when Seijuurou reaches the worthless excuse of a human – there is only lava rushing through his veins, dark smoke whipping around his figure, embers sparking out of his fingertips, and anger enveloping his every system.

 

His fire dances to the music of the man’s screams.

 

* * *

 

_But it’s not so._

 

_He is instead a lover scorned and a father no more._

 

* * *

 

 

The man is reduced to near nothing when Seijuurou is done, even less than the other **s** that he had burnt to ashes. He only lasted a short while against the furious redhead, but it was enough to sate the golden-eyed side of him.

 

He ends up near collapsing when his second self switches without another word, and the real Seijuurou is forced to deal with the aftermath of magic exhaustion. But he manages to stay upright, chest rising evenly as he fixes his breathing and lets himself rest for a moment.

 

His gaze lands on Shigehiro, body now covered in ash. His lips form another silent apology as he walks over to it, and slowly picks up his dead son; he’s still as light as the last night Seijuurou was with his family.

 

He carries him over to the still unmoving form of his husband and sets him down to lay close to Tetsuya. Shigehiro’s head is in the crook of his husband’s neck, and Seijuurou moves Tetsuya’s arm to wrap around their son once more.

 

“I’m back, but you’re not yet. I brought Shigehiro to you too, so you can hold him again.” He pauses.  “It’s fine that you’re not up yet, though. We’ll wait here until you do.”

 

And they do wait.

 

Seijuurou seats himself on the other side of Tetsuya’s body, legs crisscrossed as his hand is intertwined with his lover’s free hand. He brings it up to his lips, and he whispers his words of affections and apologies and promises into the pale skin once again as if it would reach Tetsuya if he spoke them enough. In between words, he leaves light kisses on Tetsuya’s knuckles.

 

He ignores how his stomach rumbles constantly through the night, how his eyes threaten to close with every passing minute, and how his magic is severely unstable. He ignores all that just to focus on the still form of his lover and the dead form of his son.

 

His heart aches the whole time, even as the moon sets and the sun finally rises. There’s no more navy blue sky above them as it melts into oranges and reds then purples and light blues; there’s no more darkness when Tetsuya finally shifts his gaze over.

 

“Hello, my dear,” Seijuurou says, quiet but loving with a tired smile on his face.

 

“S-Seijuurou,” Tetsuya croaks out near silently. “You’re back.”

 

“Of course. I will always return home to you.”

 

Tetsuya blinks before nodding, mind still slow. He thinks about things from Seijuurou coming back home to his children’s reactions to their father’s return to–

 

Wait, the children. Or lack of.

 

Tetsuya’s eyes widen as everything from yesterday night repeats in his head, and he _chokes_. His hands go to move up to cover his mouth, but nothing budges; he looks to the left where Seijuurou holds his hand reverently, then he looks to the right.

 

Shigehiro is next to him, tucked closely into his side, and Tetsuya wants to cry.

 

Those people – they had no mercy.

 

Shigehiro was only twelve.

 

He was only twelve when he’s bleeding on a road in front of the only church in the entire, damned village as the people surround him in their cruelty of their fear. He was only twelve when he’s left mutilated beyond belief, his beautiful brown eyes gone in a sea of the only despicable shade of red and his limbs slit into until it seems nothing more but a surface to keep count on for all of the sins of the hell-damned village.

 

He was only twelve when he dies being known as nothing more than the bastard son of a cheater and his mistress; when he dies being known as nothing more than the last, adopted son of a witchcraft family condemned to death by its own people.

 

It is a crushing thing to a parent.

 

“They killed him,” Tetsuya whispers, frail and weak, as he sits up to hug his dead son. There’s dried blood everywhere on him and the paved road in front of the fire-damned church and reminding Tetsuya that there is nothing left of him besides his corpse.

 

Gone are the days of brown eyes glimmering in the sunlight that peeks through the forest canopy by the river; of a wild, infectious laughter ringing in their already loud home; and of their precious boy running and breathing in their shared, little world.

 

Seijuurou says nothing, only sliding his exhausted body closer until it slots into the space of his lover’s side. His right hand comes to rest on Tetsuya’s back as his left hand moves to gently stroke the cheek of Shigehiro.

 

His own hands are covered with the blood of the man he had slaughtered, but it does nothing when there is already too much blood on the much too pale skin of his child. He only sits there silently as his thumb softly runs up and over the forehead, the bridge of the nose, and the cupid’s bow. His thumbs end on Shigehiro’s eyelids, shutting them close to let him sleep peacefully.

 

Tetsuya’s grip on the little boy tightens, bringing it close in between them. He feels his husband’s arm pull them in closer, and he lets his head fall into the space between Seijuurou’s shoulders and neck.

 

“We won’t let the villagers get away with this, my love,” Seijuurou murmurs in the matted hair of the smaller male. “We’ll find them, so we can avenge our son, alright, Tetsuya?”

 

“He was only twelve, Seijuurou,” the other replies quietly, voice choked and dry. “He shouldn’t have died. We shouldn’t have let him stay here with us when we could have sent him with the others. I-I shouldn’t have–””

 

“Look, don’t you dare do this, Tetsuya,” Seijuurou says as his left hand comes up to pull Tetsuya’s face out of the crook of his neck. Blue eyes are glistening, pained and regretful, and Seijuurou’s heart aches.

 

“He should never have volunteered to stay with us, but he wanted to protect his siblings, to protect his family. He did that because he loved us as much as we loved him, my dear. Please do not blame yourself for his death. He’s dead now, but he’ll stay alive in our hearts and our memories and in our family.”

 

Tetsuya only nods as a pained sob escapes him and his tears fall. Seijuurou only closes his eyes and rests his head against Tetsuya’s, his cries echoing in the burnt, empty streets of a village turned into ashes and debris.

 

* * *

  

_In the end, it matters not when everything is reduced to dust either way._


End file.
